“All thanks to our star center, Jake Jones-Evans!” The coach gave a totally lame salute and I paused. I wanted to take a second and allow this moment to sink in. This was the kind of place that had actual sports stars, who were not fictional characters in American teen movies. This was the kind of place that crushed and had teams named after marine animals and sang war cries in assembly. We didn’t even have sports at art school! A freezing Jupertonian moon might actually be preferable to this place. At least it would have been more familiar.

“Stand up, Jake!” the man shouted, and this time, I turned to look. I had to see this Jake, who had another double-barrel surname. This jock of jock legends who crushed mere mortals with his thumb and was probably . . .

H . . . ooo . . . ttt!

My mouth fell open. He was leaning against the wall, not seated like everyone else, arms folded, legs crossed, oozing this kind of nonchalance that was strangely attractive. He was so not my type—allow me to make this very clear. And yet, he was stupidly good-looking. The kind of good-looking that should not be allowed to exist in nature. It was almost unnatural. As if he was the product of some secret CRISPR experiment. All the good genes in the world had been spliced together to form . . . him.

A shaft of light streamed through a window, illuminating just one side of his face, and plunging the other side into a dramatic shadow. Usually this kind of play of light and shadow, called chiaroscuro, has to be painstakingly created with the deft strokes of an artist’s paintbrush, but his was totally natural.

But then Jake fist-pumped the air a few times (which quickly made him a lot less attractive to me).

“I don’t think I have to remind you that it’s regional finals next Friday!” the sports coach said. “We’ll be playing the Blue Bay Marlins”—(what the hell was with all these animal names)—“and as you know, it’s compulsory to support the team!”

Compulsory?! To support the water polo team?! The mind boggled.

“Also, some great phys ed news—now that the new shark nets are up, surfing can start again.”